Till Our Tails Fall Off
by Nosferatu's Cigarette Binge
Summary: Walter's random thoughts as he sits beside someone on a bus. Takes place before the Observers ruined everything.


**Disclaimer**: I claim absolutely no rights whatsoever to the characters in this story or the series they appear in.

**A/N ****The man beside Walter should be imagined as Terry O'Quinn. 2. **The final name Walter calls Astrid came to mind after repeated listening to Beck's _Hotwax_. _(You never lose in your razor blade shoes.)_

* * *

**W**alter Bishop quickly clambered into a bus. His clambering was so quickly that the tip of his left wallabee snagged a step; causing a bag of dried squid he'd just purchased to spill to the floor. Cursing, he looked gloomily to the scattered remains of the cephalopod, paid the necessary bus fee, and seated himself.

Aspartame had long since abandoned him. Where she'd wandered off too, he didn't know or care to find out. And he was damned if he was going to wait around on her to finish poking about the store. He had an important yard sale find called _The Full Monty _waiting for him at home. He didn't know what the title meant, but it sounded like it would be a hoot... It probably contained singing - maybe dancing - if he was lucky. Peter had warned him against buying it, when helping him select VHS tapes, but what did he know?

Asbestos would find him sooner or later. She always did.

Walter pushed several of the remaining squid into his mouth, gnawing on them bitterly as he looked to the traffic outside the window. The man seated beside him was deep in slumber and had been when Walter sat down. In fact, the stranger's state of hebetude was the sole reason Mr. Bishop elected to accroach that particular seat in a sea of otherwise emptiness. The fellow's gruff exterior would likely prove to be an amusing sight as he flexed about in a dream state.

Taking a Goodwill purchased cassette player from his coat pocket, Walter placed headphones over his ears and pushed 'play'. David Bowie's _Time will crawl_ seeped into his ears, lifting his mood considerably, and soon, for an unknown reason, Walter's thoughts drifted to the Doozers, inhabitants of Fraggle Cave. He was convinced the beams of their construction sites tasted like grape rock candy and flavored honey. Belly, on the other hand, believed they tasted like strawberry push pops. Which was of course ridiculous.

Walter chuckled sadly, wishing there was some way he could know for certain their secret flavor. He looked over to the sleeping lump beside him -Meathawk Immaculate he would call him for now. Meathawk was bald, slightly tan, had drooping jowls, and was of medium build. But, what interested Walter most was his lap. On it was a footlong- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Subway seafood lovers sandwich.

Walter looked at the sandwich longingly as Meathawk shifted his legs. The delectable morsel looked ready to tumble to the floor at any given moment - and the sandwich did too.

To think that so fine a sandwich would soon meet its untimely demise due to the unforgivable carelessness of one slumbering toot nearly gave Walter a conniption. Why, Meathawk didn't even want it. If he did he would have eaten it before taking a nap, wouldn't he? He probably bought it on impulse. Yes, on an impulse! He didn't care two jots about it now. He was more than likely bringing it home to some porker dog who wouldn't give it any more consideration than a side of road-kill. What a fool.

Mr. Immaculate twitched in his sleep and the sandwich slid a little further toward the floor. That was enough for Walter, in a fury he snatched the seafood delicacy from its wrapper and sank his teeth into herb crusted bread, closing his eyes in ecstasy.

Within minutes the bus rolled to a stop, waking the man next to Walter. Meathawk looked sleepily around the bus, wondering where he was. He next looked to his lap (which was often his practice) and found that the sandwich was no longer there, nor on the floor or beside him. He looked suspiciously to Walter, who was pretending to read the back of the bag of squid, even though it was upside down. Meathawk noticed several bread crumbs on Walter's jacket and a smudge of pinkish paste in the crease of his lower lip. He started to speak, but Walter jumped from his seat and frantically blurted out, "this is my stop!" before scurrying out the door. Bowie's music aided the hurried pace of his steps.

* * *

An hour later.

* * *

Astrid walked into the Kresge building with a bag of McDonald's take-out in tow. She'd called the lab from the international market, hoping to get Peter or Olivia on the line so that they might help her find the elder Bishop after he'd wandered off, but when Walter himself answered, she was more relieved than angry.

Rounding the corner to his room, Astrid's eyes mistakenly went to the screen of Walter's TV - which displayed a group of half-naked men prancing about.

"Walter?"

"Walter?" she repeated. Still no answer.

She held the take-out bag in front of the television and shook it vigorously; finally braking Walter's trance.

"Oh, you startled me." He took the bag from her hand and started rifling through it, soon withdrawing a handful of fries. "Thank you Asspants."


End file.
